6. Everett
CHAPTER SIX
Everett
THEN
By the second week of school, I’d familiarized myself with my class schedule, memorizing the rooms and learning that Josh and the rest of the basketball team sit pretty much dead center in the cafeteria where they garner the most attention. Josh welcomed me into the throng of fellow varsity team members until I’d finally snagged myself a meeting with the coach. Most of it was in part due to Josh’s persistence, though a push of encouragement from the rest of the team helped. With Josh’s charisma, popularity, and his ball throwing skills I’ve witnessed once or twice outside on his driveway since the first day of school, it makes sense he’s the team captain.
The guys mainly talked basketball, like how far they’d get this season with the new roster, and there were bits and pieces of upcoming parties and car talk. I chimed in here and there, answering questions like where I’m from and how I was managing the stick shift on my new car. It felt easy without the need for an icebreaker or a formal initiation.
I’m finally meeting Coach Martinez today after school during a pre-season practice meet with the rest of the team. Josh and I are heading to the gym after he sent Teeny home, tossing her his keys and making her promise not to eat in the car. She simply rolled her eyes at him, wishing me luck with an encouraging smile.
She’s grown more comfortable around me, even helping me with last week’s verb conjugation assignment and leaving behind small smiley faces in my notebook when I looked away. I keep finding ways to make her laugh, enjoying too much the way her entire face lights up and the small touches when she gently places her hand on my arm or playfully shoves at my shoulder. Even under the watchful eye of our French teacher, I manage to risk it all for a sliver of her attention.
“We’re doing a really simple, unofficial scrimmage today,” Josh explains to me as Teeny walks to the parking lot. Josh and I head in the opposite direction to the gym. “The season doesn’t start for another month and a half, but Coach likes to see how we’ve been doing over the summer.”
I nod.
“One of the seniors a few years back had a pretty serious injury, and when they couldn’t find anyone as good to fill his spot, Coach kind of panicked.” We approach the large double doors to the gymnasium, and Josh pulls at the clunky metal handle with a loud clank. “I think it would put him at ease if he had an extra player on the sidelines who knows what they’re doing.”
We trudge across the shiny, glossy hard flooring. There’s a handful of other guys there, a lot of the same faces I’ve been sitting with at the cafeteria for the past week. Everyone appears pretty laid back, no formalities, which adds to Josh’s statement that this’ll be just an hour of practice drills. We all greet each other with lazy nods and even lazier high fives and handshakes, a sign of the after-school fatigue settled in our bones.
“Okay, team!” I hear a voice boom across the large gymnasium, the sternness attached to a man wearing a navy-blue polo shirt and a silver whistle around his neck. Everyone’s faces perk up, that lethargy being swiped away with a wave of attention and focus. “Pair off into your teams. You guys know the drill. Four minutes, fifteen seconds on the shot clock.”
Coach’s eyes land on me, the newcomer that sticks out like a sore thumb and stalks toward us.
“Coach, this is Everett,” Josh says, rushing to my side. “The guy I was talking about.”
Coach squints his eyes. “You up for a scrimmage today?”
“Yes, sir.”
A flash of approval flits across his face. “All right, go change, and Josh’ll tell you where to go.”
I reach into my bag for my basketball shorts and jog to the locker room.
An hour and a half later, I have a thin sheen of sweat glistening off my neck. Coach blows his whistle and gestures for everyone to gather toward the bleachers near the locker room entrance.
“All right,” he announces, scanning his eyes over the symphony of haggard breaths. “You guys did good. Some more than others, but we have practice to catch up. Remember, official practice starts in a month. In the meantime, practice at home or here. I can extend my office hours if you need to use the gym.”
Everyone starts to walk off to the lockers when Coach calls for me. “Hayes.” I turn to him, and he meets me halfway with a fist jabbed into his hip and his other arm hanging loosely by his side. “So, I hear your dad is Edward Hayes.”
I inwardly flinch at the sound of my dad’s name. I have no idea how he knows, and my stomach twists with the thought that my dad ignored my plea to not involve himself when it came to my spot on the team.
“Yeah,” I answer, sounding unsure and insecure. “But I want to earn my spot here fair and square.”
He nods sternly. “Good,” he says, the lift in his voice not matching his face. “’Cause we don’t do handouts around here.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And I expect you to show up to every practice,” he adds. “You got a lot of catching up to do with these guys, and I expect you to do that before the season starts.”
“So, I’m on the team?”
He nods again, but this time with a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “But you aren’t starting.”
I beam. “That’s fine,” I say excitedly. “Whatever spot you got, I’ll take it, Coach.”
He ducks his head. “I’ll see you at practice.”
* * *
“I’m so jacked you’re on the team,” Josh says, slamming the passenger door to my car. “We can practice here whenever you have time. Or the courts at the park are good too. They’re usually empty after school.”
I’d driven us back home, and Josh had talked nonstop the whole way. About the upcoming season and what it means for us seniors. About the team and standings, stats, and college recruitment. His excitement was growing infectious on the drive over, making me less anxious about playing on a new team and more excited about the season to come.
“You want to come in?” Josh asks just as he heads toward his house. “My dad got this smoker last weekend, and we’ve been having every kind of smoked meat known to mankind.”
I peer up at my house, considering my alternatives. My mom drove up to Malibu for the day to meet up with some of her friends from her USC days, something she’d been looking forward to now that my dad was back up north. I’d be home all alone anyway.
“Yeah, sure,” I answer Josh.
When we walk into his house, we’re welcomed by noise. I can’t pinpoint what it is, mainly because it’s a mixture of different noises meshed together, but also because I’ve never been greeted by sounds like this when I walk into a home. Yelling, music, the rhythmic clack of something being chopped on a cutting board, and even the shrill noise of a muffled chainsaw.
“Sorry it’s a little crazy in here,” Josh says over his shoulder.
I shake my head as we round the corner to the kitchen where I see Josh’s parents at the kitchen counter. I find that the chainsaw noise, now a little more high-pitched and shrill, is a small electric carver Josh’s dad is wielding. I find Teeny next to a woman, their mom I assume, as she chops vegetables on a chopping board and pushes them to the side using the blade of her knife.
“Hiya,” Josh’s dad calls, pulling away his focus from the large slab of meat on the counter. He’s actually hovering over it, the countertop too low for his excess height, probably where Josh gets his height from. His hair, bright and wavy, hangs off his forehead and when he peers up at me, blue eyes look back at me.
“Mom, Dad. Is it okay if Everett stays for dinner?”
Both their mom and Teeny lift their heads and smile warmly at me. “Hi Everett,” Teeny’s mom says. Her hands don’t leave the space in front of her, her grip firm on the knife and vegetables, but even with the entire length of the kitchen island between us, she’s friendly and welcoming. Her round eyes, fanned at the edges with fine wrinkles, smile back at me with the same wide front teeth Teeny has.
“Did your parents want to join us for dinner?” Teeny’s dad asks. “We’re celebrating Andrew’s birthday.”
“Oh, yeah,” Josh says from my side. “Sorry, dude. I forgot to mention. It’s my baby brother’s birthday.”
I nod. “My dad’s actually back up north, and my mom’s visiting some friends in Malibu,” I say to Josh’s mom to answer her question.
“Well, that works out then. We’ll make sure you’re fed tonight.” She pauses to move over some things into a steaming pot. Her dark hair, identical to Teeny’s, is held back with a large clip, strands of white and gray making the tones of her hair silvery.
“Thank you,” I answer her.
I see how much Teeny takes after her mom, with her deep brown eyes and apple-like round cheeks. Even the way she affectionately pats Teeny’s shoulder as Teeny helps her with dinner seems to be a direct parallel to how warm and sympathetic Teeny is.
Soon enough, we’re sitting at the formal dining room table surrounded by heaps of platters, all full of food like it’s Thanksgiving dinner.
“We don’t normally eat like this,” Josh whispers from the seat next to mine. “It’s usually just regular stuff.”
Just then, pitter-pattering footsteps sound from the hallway and come to a halt at the entrance to the dining room. A kid, who I assume is the birthday boy, stands there with a Lego Millenium Falcon in his hands and his breaths coming out in sharp intake and exhales.
“Joshy! I finished it!”
“Hey! Great job, kiddo!” He stands from his seat, walking over to his little brother, and takes the Lego set from him with caution. “It looks good!”
The boy smiles proudly with a gap in his front teeth and crooked bangs lining his forehead. He looks at the table and gasps. “Where’s my cake?”
“Mom’s got it in the fridge,” Josh explains, looking over the table to find it sans cake. “We gotta eat first.” Josh sets down the Lego set on a nearby table, making sure that it sits sturdily before walking his brother to the table. “Andrew, this is my friend Everett.”
I wave a hand, and Andrew gives another wide grin before taking the seat next to mine.
“Okay,” I hear Josh’s mom call as she appears with a large silver pot held by potholders. “Sorry for the wait. I was just finishing up the miyeok guk .”
Teeny follows, carrying a stack of bowls. She’s laughing at something her dad said, looking at him with her hands full and for some reason, it makes me smile too. When she smiles, everything about her lights up. Her twinkling eyes, her glowing skin, her rosy cheeks. Even her golden-yellow dress, covered in teeny tiny flowers hanging off her shoulder with capped sleeves and a hem that reaches just above her knee, instantly brightens up the room as she enters. Her hair is half up, two braided pigtails trailing the side of her crown, and she tosses it back at the same time her smile transitions into a full laugh, making a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through my chest.
Teeny sets the bowls next to the pot her mom brought out and settles into a seat right across from me. She gives me a smile, flashing me those endearingly charming teeth, and waves her hand in my direction.
I’m about to wave back when our silent exchange is interrupted. “Everett, have you ever had Korean food?”
I look at Teeny’s mom, a long ladle scooping some kind of dark, slimy stew from a pot to a bowl.
“No I haven’t,” I answer. “But I’m not picky.”
“Good.” She extends the bowl she just served to Andrew and moves onto another empty bowl like an assembly line. “We don’t eat Korean food every day, but miyeok guk is reserved for birthdays. It’s seaweed soup, and it’s a common Korean tradition to eat on birthdays. And Andrew’s favorite,” she adds. “It was all he ate as a baby.”
I catch Teeny eyeing me curiously, observing me in a studious way as I take it all in. The genuine laughter and prattle that fills the table while the food is being passed around is infectious, just like Teeny’s smile, and I find myself mirroring the teasing uptilt of her lips every time I look at her.
“Josh, did you send in your application to UCI yet?” Josh’s dad asks, his voice cutting across the table.
“Yes,” he answers politely. “I sent in all my applications last month.”
“Good,” his dad responds. “As soon as you hear from UCI, you let us know.”
“You applied to San Diego State too, right?” his mom chimes in, and Josh nods. “It would be nice if you don’t have to go to school too far from home.”
Another respectful nod has Josh’s head bobbing up and down, not giving any dispute about his future, much unlike me and my dad.
“But make sure you keep UCI in your top three options.” Josh’s dad pauses before gesturing a fork in my direction and asking, “What about you, Everett? Do you have plans for college after graduation?”
I feel my ears grow warm with the attention suddenly on me. “My dad wants me to go to UC Davis. It’s fairly close to our home in Sacramento, and he’s hoping I’ll play in college.”
“You play?”
I nod at the same time Josh jumps in. “He just made the team,” he tells his parents excitedly.
“Congratulations!” Josh’s mom says enthusiastically.
“Thank you.”
“Mommy! Can I have a Death Star pinata on Saturday?” Andrew exclaims with barbeque sauce on the side of his mouth, interrupting our conversation.
Josh’s dad shakes his head. “I don’t know where we’re going to find a Death Star pinata in three days.” Andrew sulks and he adds, “But you have the very nice Luke Skywalker costume Mommy got you.”
“Everett,” Josh’s mom says, calling my attention. “If you and your mom are free this weekend, we’re having Andrew’s birthday party. Nothing fancy. Just some hotdogs and hamburgers. And a jump house if either one of you is into that.”
I smile. “I’ll let her know. Thank you.”
After an inharmoniously sung rendition of the happy birthday song with Andrew’s eyes shining brightly against his candles and cutting the chocolate cake, I’m hovering over the kitchen sink with Teeny standing at my side. I’m helping her load the dishwasher as she hands me plates from the sink after she was assigned the task, and I volunteered to help. Josh’s parents are putting things away in the fridge and making multiple trips from the dining room to the kitchen to store everything, and Josh has been assigned with trash duty.
“Congratulations.” Teeny’s gaze is on the sink where she’s meticulously scraping at a dried piece of food on a fry pan. Our hips brush, magnifying how closely we’re standing next to each other. “On making the team.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” With her focus on her suds-covered hands, I watch her. I watch the way her lips twitch as she congratulates me. The silky locks of hair neatly tucked behind her ear, exposing the small diamond stud standing out like sparkles of starlight. The slope of her jaw and how it trails down a narrow hollow before connecting to the column of her neck. Even the delicate chain dangling a gold butterfly that rests on her collarbone. My hands, wet and soapy from the task at hand, starts to itch with the need to readjust her necklace so the clasp rests at her nape.
Her arm brushes against mine, and she looks up at me. Water sloshes between us when she reaches for a new plate and her temple nearly brushes against my chin. “Hopefully you can play basketball better than you can pronounce ‘monsieur.’”
My brow shoots up. “I can pronounce ‘mon-sur’ just fine.”
She giggles. “It’s ‘me-syer.’ The ‘n’ is silent.”
“That’s what I said.”
She rolls her eyes and nudges me with her elbow.