Jimmy could be a real pain. He was always on about basketball. Like, did you see the Vince Carter jam from last night? No, no I did not, because were not twelve anymore and theres bigger things in this world than hoops. Hoops leaving Jimmy served him right. Still, a part of Pedro felt for our kid. Jimmy with no basketball skills was like Taco Bell fajitas-s.h.i.t just seemed fake.

Sometimes when he sat at the top of Columbia City Column Hill with the other stoners, Pedro felt like his shortcut-to-happiness plan was really panning out. From his perch overlooking the entire town, pretending he was flying while he was flying, Pedro could really feel his body getting lighter, fast approaching the moment when it was light enough to take off. Made him smile, mouth the word "adios."

He tried to hang with Dex, but as the summer progressed this became more infrequent. Dex started running with kids too cool for Pedro and the stoner burnouts hed glommed on to. Kids under the influence of being good-looking, talented, or rich-or some combination of all three. When Dex and Pedro did see each other, they b.i.t.c.hed about Jimmy, complained about him acting like a little girl, remembered those times when he promised hed ride the booster bus with them, but ditched last second.

More and more though, Dex was separating from Pedro too-becoming his own force.

For Dex, it had been a punch in the gut to hear of Pedro and Jimmys fight. Much of his world to that point had been those two. And while it pained him, he would have taken Jimmys side, no doubt. Problem was, Jimmy just stopped talking to him after the fight. So he waited, scared his big bro was mad at him for some reason. Then Jimmy just kept silent like Dex was at fault in it too, and that scared feeling went sour in his belly, way past the expiration date, until he was p.i.s.sed off. Then when summer really got going hot and bothered, he jumped on for the ride.

Finally away from Jimmys pressure to play roundball twenty-four hours a day, Dex more fully inhabited his own personality. He ran with gangs of summerland kids, doing normal teenage stuff. A summer glued together with bubble gum and ripped to shreds by bottle rockets. He liked it, to be honest, just being normal. He got lit with Pedro and learned Spanish slang. Toilet-papered houses and shoplifted beer. Once spent an entire day sun burning "f.u.c.k Off" onto his chest, only the third f didnt really take. He ran around with "f.u.c.k Of" instead. He and his friends turning it into a joke, an adjective. "You want a little f.u.c.k of me? Now thats a f.u.c.k of a movie." He went to bonfire parties on the beach and touched the sweaty, pebble-hard nipples of three different girls, felt their tongues mix him up with his mouth as the cauldron, had their hair in his eyes as the wind played interference.

Sometimes Dex, on bored nights, went down to the courts in secret and watched his big brother from the shadows. Sipped tallboys he stole from pops and saw Jimmy just like he used to be. Smooth, fluid, and special. Here at Tapiola, it all looked so easy. Almost made it seem like Jimmy had choked on purpose. Dex watched, chucked the empty beer cans behind him, felt the blood pound in his temples.

With fall football coming on fast and the town getting ready for back to school, Jimmy and Mr. Berg were having lunch in the stands that overlooked the half-mown football field.

"Your Dad was like Dex, you know, all big and strong," Berg said between mouthfuls of peanut b.u.t.ter and banana sandwich. "Holy cow. But he could shoot a little too. Nowhere near what you can do, but he could shoot a little."

Their pants were stained green where the mower had kicked up the juicy bits. s.p.a.ckles of half-digested plant stuck in their hair and on their faces. The almost tart smell of cut gra.s.s hung in the air. Jimmy picked a disfigured leaf off his forearm. "Wasnt small like me, huh?" he said.

"Wasnt quick like you." Berg patted our kids arm. Jimmy flinched and Berg pulled his hand away. "Hey, he wasnt quick, what I say? And he couldnt light it up like you can. Jeez Louise, forget about it. All those chants about Daddys better, all that stuff? Thats ignorance right there, cause youre just as special as him."

"Wish I could do it in a real game," Jimmy said.

"You will, you will. Youre special, just like your daddy. I remember my father pestering me about how come I wasnt stepping up, making more plays, and Id tell him, 'Hey Dad, when you got Freight Train on your team, you feed him the ball. You dont go around putting paint on the Mona Lisa and you dont play a game of basketball with Todd Kirkus and not give him the d.a.m.n ball. Plain and simple." Mr. Berg laughed. "Heres the thing, though, Jimmy. If your dad was the Mona Lisa, then youre the whole museum. You got all the keys to be great, Im telling you."

A black sedan pulled into the parking lot. They quit their conversation to watch. The car stopped and shook slightly. Mr. Berg started talking again but the tone of his voice shifted. The words were decapitated by his breath. The door to the black sedan opened with that precise sort of quiet pop that only comes from very expensive cars. Out stepped Princ.i.p.al Berg-recently promoted to superintendent-in tan shorts and a loose b.u.t.ton-up shirt. The promotion had taken his shoddy internal spring, ground down with old age, and put the bounce back in it. Jimmy had heard all the rumors. How Super Berg used the b.u.mp in salary to fuel a "midlife" crisis-coming full three quarters of the way into his life. Hed divorced his second and married his third wife, bought expensive toys, and took to wearing his silk shirts unb.u.t.toned a few too many. He carried most of the change flabbily in his belly.

Super Berg shaded his eyes as he turned slow circles in the parking lot, trying to spot them. Jimmy looked at Mr. Berg. The man made no attempt to get his fathers attention. His jaw clenched tightly. The talking stopped.

When Super Berg finally spotted them seated high up in the bleachers, he whistled shrilly and motioned with big sweeps of his arm that they, or rather just Mr. Berg, should come down. Raising his arms like that caused the bottom of his shirt to ride up and expose his hair-peppered paunch. A pale slug.

Mr. Berg stared straight ahead, not talking, not waving back.

Finally Super Berg threw his arms up in an exaggerated shrug and started the climb up the bleacher seats. As he got closer, Jimmy noticed he was wearing a pair of yellow-lens sungla.s.ses. Round things like a rock star could maybe pull off. Guy like Super Berg though, he just looked goofy. Too old to pull it off.

"Hey," Mr. Berg said to Jimmy, the trouble palpable in the air. "Why dont you go get started on chalking the end zones, Ill be down in a second."

Jimmy, sore and curious, moved slowly. "OK."

"Hurry up now," Mr. Berg warned.

Super Berg was close, huffing. "Make. Me. Climb. Your father. Of all. The."

Jimmy could see the rage building red in his pudgy face.

"Wait a second," Super Berg called.

Jimmys stomach tingled. "Me?" Super Berg had come to each and every game of Jimmys disastrous freshman season, big bucket of popcorn on his knee and Mary, the new wife who said little, at his side. Talking with everyone who pa.s.sed, fingers getting progressively shinier as the b.u.t.ter built up, until by the final buzzer, there was a yellow tint to everything on him, b.u.t.ter smeared on his cheeks and pant legs. He always asked Jimmy before a game with that crooked, greedy smile, if he was "feeling it tonight."

"Yeah, you," Super Berg said.

Jimmy stopped.

"Get to work, Jimbo, Ill be down in a second," Mr. Berg said. Our kid had never been called Jimbo before and it rang out untrue.

"Jimbo? Call him Jimbo now? Hey, let me ask you a question, Kirkus." Super Berg took a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "What do they call David at school? My grandson, behind his back, what do they call him?"

Jimmy bit his lip. This wasnt about him.

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Berg asked.

"Call him f.a.ggy Berg, dont they Jimmy? f.a.ggy Berg. James, thats what your son is known as."

Mr. Berg swallowed, looked away. "So?"

"So? This is about David, son, this is about him." Super Berg coughed. "If you would just pick up the phone we could have already been over this and I wouldnt have to go trolling through town, looking like an idiot, trying to fish up MY OWN G.o.dd.a.m.n SON!" His voice echoed in the football bleachers. He breathed deeply, made a show of calming himself. "We could have taken care of David right when this issue popped up."

Jimmy looked at Super Bergs eyes, the true color hard to pin down behind the yellow lenses. It gave him a headache like wearing 3-D gla.s.ses outside the theater. Super Bergs eyes were a slightly off version of Mr. Bergs kind eyes. Jimmy didnt want any part of this. None of their fight, their fuss, their issues. A sense of unease curled up in a little ball at the pit of his stomach, kicking out, trying to carve more s.p.a.ce in his life. He imagined it as a miniature sand toad that had infected him first in basketball but was now spreading into other parts of his life and the lives of those around him. Gray, rough skin. Breadcrumb tongue. Eyes big, sick, and yellow. He was carrying a very communicable infection.

Mr. Berg and his father were arguing louder, shouting.

"SO YOU THINK ITS OK?" Super Berg bellowed. "Just let David f.u.c.k around, not join the football team, not join the basketball team for Christs sake?" He held out his hands, pleading. "Not even something like swimming? Its good for the boy to do something. Anything. Builds character."

Jimmy looked at the older Berg. Is that what sports were supposed to do? Out of everyone he knew, David Berg seemed like the person to want sports, need sports, the least. Basketball? Naw. That kind of pressure wasnt him. Jimmy didnt know what David needed, but it wasnt sports.

"If he doesnt want to, I wont make him."

Super Berg kept talking. "Gives you chances you didnt normally have. Look at you. You got your chance to shine when Todd was suspended. Because of that you went on to college, right? You got a degree! Imagine if."

"YOU SHUT YOUR G.o.dd.a.m.n MOUTH ABOUT THAT!" Mr. Berg could not contain himself. He was spitting mad. First time Jimmy saw the compet.i.tor come out in the man. The real baller who had once been the second-best player on Columbia Citys team when fact of the matter was, hed have been the toast of any other team that didnt feature Todd Kirkus. Mr. Berg was standing, fist coiled to strike his flabby father who stood a bleacher row down.

Super Berg remembered Jimmy was still there, suddenly turned on him. "You know that, kid? My boy finally got to star in a game cause your father went out drinking the night before and got himself suspended. My boy finally showed everyone what I always knew-he was just as good a player as Todd ever was. Good enough to get to college for it. Good enough to get scholarship money, a degree in history."

"Shut up," Mr. Berg said. "Dont do this. Freight Train was heads and tails."

"Be a man, James, wont you? You were just as good. And if youd just push David a little more."

"Hed what? Change overnight? Stop dressing in black, throwing rocks at kids? This isnt about Jimmy. Lets talk about this in private."

Jimmy touched the scar above his right eye. Where was David Berg right now?

"Isnt about Jimmy? All worked up about a Kirkus, again, when its your son, your David . . ." Super Berg laughed bitterly. "Youre right, son. People dont change." And then, to Jimmy, "Your pops got his knee busted resisting arrest. Drunk and looking to drive. Trying to run away from Genny. He was scared cause your mamma was pregnant with that sweet little girl and he was looking to fly."

"Jimmy, listen, listen to me kid," Mr. Berg said. "It isnt all like that."

Our kid felt like he was getting buried alive. What the h.e.l.l was Berg defending anyway? His pops had a rot in him, Jimmy knew, and all this new information was doing was showing him how deep the infestation went. Hed heard these rumors before, of course, little pieces of the story here and there, but he didnt put much stock in it. Rumors grew in Columbia City with equal parts exaggeration, speculation, and malice.

"Tell him the truth, James." Super Berg smiled, at least that was what it looked like to Jimmy. A little smile that carried more sorrow than a frown ever could. Jimmy hadnt known emotions to twist like that. "Todd 'Too Big for the Team Kirkus couldnt handle your mom being pregnant with that beautiful little girl. No real adult around to teach a man responsibility and thats what happens. James, you got to lay something down for David, some structure."

Mr. Berg shot out with a little jab of his left fist and rapped his father on the forehead. Jimmy wished the punch would somehow hit him too, but physics dont work like that. The fat man stumbled backward and tripped over a bleacher seat. Super Berg rolled twice, comical and slow, making little high-pitched "oh" noises along the way.

Jimmy jumped to where the big man stopped three or four rows down. Furious and grateful all at once for the truth hed just been told. He helped the pudgy man up while Mr. Berg ignored them. Super Berg looked past Jimmy to his son, the yellow gla.s.ses catawampus. Beneath the lens, Jimmy saw, his eyes were the same color as all the Bergs.

"You know, Jimmy," Super Berg said in a voice loud enough for the fuming Mr. Berg to hear, "You tell me what a grown man with a history degree is doing as a janitor." He rubbed his neck. "You clue me in on that, cause it sure beats me."

"You should go," Jimmy said. "We have work to do."

Super raised his palms in protest and then brought both hands down in disgust, as though it wasnt worth the effort. He turned and stomped back down the bleachers to his car, unraveled the dust on his way out.

At Monas restaurant in Tillamook-an hour and fifteen minutes just to have dinner-Genny Mori and Doc McMahan were having a conversation neither had had since they were in high school. A breakup over appetizers. Light low enough that they could risk being real. Real tears, real regrets, real ultimatums, and real failures.

"If youre with me, youre not with anyone else," Genny said. She had insisted on driving herself should things go poorly. This fact alone had probably set McMahan on notice. Her original plan had been to get a glow going with a couple gla.s.ses of wine before wading in. As soon as she sat down, though, she knew it to be impossible. He was tense, eyes darting, not risking touching her knees beneath the table as he normally would. "Not anymore, at least."

"Genny, you know its harder than that. I have a whole family."

"And me?"

"Genny, why now? We love each other, so, why now?"

"You love me?"

"I do." Here he thought she was cracking. He reached across the table and found her hands. Cold, damp. She pulled her hands from under his and he was left with his fingers outstretched and alone like stars on the dark tablecloth. "I love you very much."

"Why didnt you help me? In the parking lot? Todd was drunk and angry. He could have hurt me."

He sighed, pulled his hands back into his lap. "You know why. Thats not a fair question. It was so long ago."

To Genny it was more than fair. Theyd been seeing each other for so long and nothing, nothing, nothing! was changing. It was beginning to seem like McMahan would never leave his wife for her, no matter how many times he implied he might. Hints were hints until they were taunts. Genny stood up, no wine drunk, no appetizers eaten. "If youre with me, youre not with anyone else," she said again because a rehea.r.s.ed line, it couldnt change halfway through like something said from the heart. She waited for him to jump in, say something, save it. She needed for him to fight for her.

He shook his head though, whispered viciously, "Youre not being fair."

She left, heart still sitting at the table, aching with every step of distance she put between them on her way to the van. Swallowed hard. Burning tears pushed down. It was over. Her and the Doc. It was done.

That night after Jimmy watched Mr. Berg and Super Berg fight, he couldnt sleep. Thoughts of his pops boozing so much hed busted his knee didnt seem too far from the man he knew, but running away from his pregnant mom? That was the rub. By all accounts the man had loved Suzie, the sister Jimmy had never met. Kept that creepy cows skull on the dash of his work rig just because it was the last thing she had collected. Jimmy rolled back and forth in the tangled sheets and the more he tried to push away the thought of his father running out on his mom, the more he couldnt get it out of his mind. Finally, he gave in and took his gray ball to Tapiola.

The air was cool on the walk down. Summer, finally, had begun to turn. It cleared the stuffiness from his head. On the courts someone else was already shooting, scooping his own rebounds, and shooting again. As Jimmy got closer, he saw it was Dex. He walked to midcourt and stopped. Watched him unveil move after move. Jimmy always knew his little brother was a solid player, but he gave most of the credit to his size. However, on that night he could see that Dexter Kirkus really was special. Hed been blind and stupid to have not noticed before. Also, it made him hungry to play.

On a long rebound, Dex noticed Jimmy standing there on the moonlit court, watching.

"Jesus," Dex said.

"I scare you?"

He laughed, bitter. "Well, creepo, you sneak up on someone."

"How you been?" The whole summer of not talking with Dex unrolled inside of him, and in his excitement he tacked on more words before his brother had a chance to respond. "Youre looking good out here."

His little-huge-brother walked closer. "You know, sometimes I come down here and watch you. Been watching all summer. Figured you might be out tonight."

"Yeah?"

"I see you down here some nights," Dex repeated. He took the ball and bounced it twice with both hands. Sound huge in that dying summer night. Couple of gunshots. "I mean, where you been, Jimmy? Where you been all summer?"

Jimmy started dribbling his own ball. Gray thing so fuzzy the sounds came m.u.f.fled. He felt light. Something in finding the whole truth about his pops was what did it. "Ah shut up, Dex. Been working for Berg, you know that." Jimmy laughed but found he did it alone.

"They call you Jimmy Soft now. You know that?"

Jimmy dribbled harder, went through his legs, behind his back. Such control the ball might as well have been on a string. "You want to play?"

"With Jimmy Soft? No. Cause I know the thing about you. I see you out here all summer. You still got it sometimes. Been there all along. You arent Jimmy Soft. You been tricking the rest of us with a bogus slump for s.h.i.t knows why."

Jimmy dribbled up to his brother. Huge Dex towered above him. Chest heaving. Sweating like a man while Jimmy still couldnt grow armpit hair. "Ill shoot for ball." Jimmy took a step around him and let go a shot from five feet behind the three-point line. Nailed it midstride. He turned back, smiling. "Guess I get ball."

Then Dex was there. Pushing Jimmy. Our kid tripped and tumbled. b.l.o.o.d.y hands and knees. Rage out the ears but fear too, like an aftertaste that makes you worry about the food you just swallowed. Jimmy on his back. Dex stood over him, breathing harder than from any basketball game. Kid was backlit and so dark he looked like a shadow himself, a shadow for what Jimmy couldnt yet know, but it had to be enormous.

Jimmy went to sit up, but Dex was there too. Moving as fast as a chest pa.s.s. Down on him with full weight. Both knees on his chest. Squeezing out the air. Face a mystery with moon-glow behind it.

"Get off or-" Jimmy wheezed.

"Or what, Jimmy? What? You gonna fight me? You gonna show me something?"

"Get the f.u.c.k off." Jimmy clawed with his free right arm. His left was pinned at the bicep under Dexs kneecap, getting the s.h.i.t bruised out of it. All he wanted was to be strong enough to get out from under there, but he was nowhere near. He had the cold, ridiculous fear that someone was watching. He gurgled and slapped with his free hand. Tears coming to his eyes. Tried to scream, but it was tough going with the air being pressed out of him. Whole summer of hard labor, muscles bigger every day, and still Dex moved him like food pushed around a plate. Just tried to breath. In and out were the only two thoughts in the world. In and out.

Dex grabbed Jimmys slapping hand, grip was iron. "Jesus, Jimmy," Dex said. He couldnt believe this wet, little, crying, breathless, spineless, lying, slumping, snakeskin kid was once his hero. He pushed off him. One last shove to take the remaining air from Jimmys lungs. Left him mouthing like a fish. Fish. You could give a man a fish or you could teach a man to fish. Or, if youre really p.i.s.sed, you could just give him nothing and not teach him a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing.

Dex walked off toward the river. With parents like Todd and Genny Mori, it didnt much matter when he came home. Maybe hed go find Pedro, get high. Maybe hed hit up that girl whod been texting him. Some freshman from Seaside looking to live dangerous with the rival. Dex would get her alone someplace and see how far shed let him go. Hed dry his eyes and see if one of the last summer nights had anything left for him.

Rule 21. Dont Get Too High, Dont Get Too Low.

Friday, February 29, 2008.

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