Three On Three by Eric Walters

Author:Eric Walters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 1999-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Done Like Dinner

“Almost finished?” Mom asked. She was standing in the doorway. This was the fourth time she’d been up; twice to bring us food, and once to tell Kia she had to go home for supper.

“We just finished,” I answered. “And it’s really good.”

“It’s all right,” Marcus said quietly.

“Do you want to read it, Mom?”

“Could you read it to me? I seem to have misplaced my glasses again.”

Marcus and I exchanged a look and a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Mom asked.

I pointed to the top of her head where her glasses were perched.

“Oh, thank you,” she mumbled as she pulled them down. “Sometimes I get so distracted when I’m on deadline, I lose track of things. Why don’t you read it to me anyway? Poetry is meant to be said more than it is to be read.”

Marcus didn’t look comfortable with that idea.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I offered.

“That’s okay, I guess.” He cleared his throat and began.

“The ball moves like it’s on a string,

Dancing, jiving, I can make it sing,

Opponents try to take it away,

I make my move, a difficult play,

I pass the ball and drive the hoop,

A pass comes back, a perfect loop,

An alley-oop for two!

We win!”

“What do you think, Mom?”

“I think, that if Marcus plays basketball as well as he writes poetry, then your team is going to win for sure.”

Marcus burst into a gigantic grin, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him smile — not just today, but ever.

“It’s time for your friend to head home. Our supper is ready.”

“Couldn’t we shoot some hoops first? Dad isn’t even home yet, is he?”

“He called and said he had to work late.”

“Again? What does that make … three times this week?”

“Four,” Mom said. “But it’s not his fault. He’s got that big project and the work has to be done and you know he’d —”

“— be home if he could,” I said, finishing the sentence I’d heard a lot more than once over the past two months. It was a good thing I had a picture of my father on top of my dresser. Otherwise there was a danger I’d forget what he looked like.

“So it’s just the two of us for dinner tonight.”

“Could Marcus stay for supper?” I asked.

“His meal is probably almost ready as well,” Mom replied.

Marcus shrugged. “Nope. It only gets ready when I get home.”

“That’s very considerate of your parents to wait like that,” Mom commented.

“Marcus fixes his own suppers.”

“He does?”

“Not every night. Only when my father works twelve-hour shifts like this week. He makes the chow when he’s home.”

“And does your mother work long shifts as well?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus said. “She doesn’t live with us.”

“I see.” Her tone of voice and expression seemed different again.

“So can he stay? I know we have enough since Dad isn’t here.”

“I’m not even sure your friend would like what I’ve made.”

I inhaled deeply and recognized the aroma. “Everybody loves lasagna,” I protested.

“It sure smells good,” Marcus said.

“Then I guess it’s all right.

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