That Boy

 

"Where is that Deacon boy?” The headmaster’s voice had grown shriller since Rick Deacon’s safe return from the old school. Many suspected the stern, pencil thin woman was disappointed that the Mafia hadn’t killed him.

Lee pointed out the window, his cool blue eyes glaring sullenly from his freckled face. “Playing basketball with those black kids outside.”

She cast the thickset redhead a dark look. “That’s boy is exposing himself to the local punks? What is he trying to do? Get himself shot?”

“He says because we won’t pass the ball to him in Gym he’s going to play with those guys outside. I’m telling you, you should lock the ghoulies in.” Lee shook his head. “They’re a menace.”

The prim schoolmaster frowned, walking to the window to look out. “Lock them in? Let him expose himself to those gangsters. If they shoot him then we don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Basketball Buddies

Those ‘gangsters’ played a mean game of basketball. The rust-haired white boy enjoyed every second of the game, making friends easily with the local boys of Bedford-Stuyvesant. His first winning move was not to go outside in his school uniform but in his tee shirt and jeans. His second was not being pretentious when he talked. His third was that he really knew the game.

“Come on! Pass it!”

Rick passed to the tall black kid Kareem, named after the old basketball star. Most of the kids in that neighborhood playing were African Americans, though there were a few Latinos and a couple of kids people called ‘white trash’. Most of the boys made fun of Rick at first, calling him white boy and dawg, but the rusty-haired thirteen-year-old just laughed it off. They liked how casual Rick was and how he didn’t care about image or showing off. He was just fun. Matthew Calamori and his friends watched this going on for about a week as puzzled as anything. They just didn’t understand how a werewolf was so at ease with being among normal people. And not just that. How a white rich kid was so at home in what they liked to call ‘the projects’ (though they realized later that the ‘projects’ were farther south in Brownsville). It really was like Rick was afraid of nothing.

“Hey! Rick!” Matt, who looked like an average fifteen-year-old Italian, waved over to him from the road. He shivered in shiver in the autumn air as his pale, platinum blonde-haired pal Tom Brown sauntered to the fenced lot, smirking. “They’re calling us in for dinner.”

One of the boys caught the ball, stopping the game. “Hey, yo homie is callin’.”

Rick laughed as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead. His hair stuck up with the damp like wet fur. “Yeah. I gotta run.”

He jogged to the side of the court to pick up a jacket he had tossed.

“Is that really a schoo’?” one of the boys asked him, pointing to the brick building—or rather the brick facade since it really was steel and concrete underneath. The place looked more like a rundown apartment building on the outside, not unlike the place they had just left.

Nodding, Rick said, “Sure is. I have to wear a uniform and a tie in there.”

They all gave him funny looks.

“Are you rich?” one of them asked.

Rick laughed harder, walking backward towards the fence. “It’s not that kind of school.”

“What kind of school is it?” Joaquin asked, resting the ball on his hip.

“Hurry it up, wolf boy!” Tom beckoned, still smirking.

Rolling his eyes, Rick shook his head, ignoring him. “It’s like a charity house for kids that can’t go home.”

“Oh…” The boys nodded. No need to go any further.

“Kinda like a shelter,” one of them said, gesturing at the homeless shelter behind them.

Rick gave it a glance then smirked. “Kind of, only it is privately owned. Usually the police bring the kids to my school. You wouldn’t want to go there.”

They all nodded.

Joaquin followed Rick to the gate, as did a few others though most went back to the game, taking the ball from Joaquin. Tom stepped back, still smirking but letting them go by as he stood tall. Several of the boys cast Tom glares, especially since they saw this tall, white, smug teenaged boy with a cocky grin and sunglasses trying to look cool on their turf. Kareem cast Tom an extra menacing glare, but that made Tom only grin broader.

“What you staring at, white boy?” one of them snapped. He jumped out at Tom to spook him but Tom did not budge, grinning tautly as if ready to crack for glee. Matt averted his eyes, maintaining his distance.

“What’s that look on that white boy’s face?” Joaquin hissed into Rick’s ear.

“Ignore it,” Rick said, passing Tom. “He always looks like that.”

“Yeah, but why?” Joaquin glared back at Tom who started to follow Rick at a trot, stuffing his hands behind his back like he was doing a dance.

Rick didn’t look comfortable answering. Yet he said, “Cause he’s always up to no good. They call him Trouble at the school.”

“They who?” Tom suddenly dropped his smile.

Glancing over his shoulder, Rick said, “The headmaster and all the straights.”

“Straights meaning—” one of the boys cut in, looking worried.

Rick cut him off. “Come on, Tom. It fits.”

“Fine, wolf boy.” Tom’s smirk returned. “It does, but I do have one question for you.”

“What is it?” Rick hung his shoulders tiredly.

“Do you have a calendar that marks the full moon?” Tom’s smirk spread as he danced to get in front of him. He then poked Rick in the forehead. “You got bushy eyebrows again.”

Rick reached up and groped his eyebrows. Straightaway he moaned, closing his eyes. “Crap! I forgot.”

“Does this mean you’re not having dinner with us?” Tom asked glancing back at Matt.

“Your dad’s not back from his trip, is he?” Matt walked over.

Shaking his head, Rick glanced at his new friends. “No.”

“Where is he now?” Tom then looked to see how the locals would react to Rick’s answer.

Rick cringed. However, he drew in a breath and said, “Germany. And he won’t be back for another week.”

“I thought he was in Japan?” Matt said, not realizing the effect their words were having on the

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.07.2010
ISBN: 978-3-7368-4020-1

Alle Rechte vorbehalten