Page 81 of Caught in a Storm
“Jesus, man!” Aaron throws his hands in the air after Lawson hits a reverse layup. “Are you kidding?”
“Aaron, I’m a piano teacher!”
“All right, lads,” Lawson says. “Simmer down. Maybe make-it-take-it isn’t working. Here, ball’s yours, Billy. Caleb and I’ll play a little D. Change things up a bit.”
The teams switch sides. Lawson slaps Caleb’s ass. “I’ll work the perimeter, mate. You just stand down low and keep being tall.”
His dad moves to the top of the driveway, checks the ball to Lawson.
“Don’t feel bad, mate,” Lawson says. “I’m sure you’re a better pianist than me.”
“We don’t have to be dicks, though, right?” Caleb says.
When Lawson laughs, Caleb can think of at least three movies he’s seen in which Lawson laughs just like that—like a big, head-tossed-back thing. The people stopping and watching at the end of the driveway add to the weirdness of all this, the way each goes through the same process of realization. Is that? No. Wait. What? Oh my God.
His dad dribbles, steps back, surveys the driveway. He passes to Aaron, but Aaron immediately fires the ball back. His dad catches it right at his face. He passes back to Aaron, but the same thing happens: Aaron throws it back, hard, with a grunt. This repeats itself a few times. At first his dad seems confused, but with each toss he looks more pissed. “What the hell, man?” he asks.
“Here!” says Aaron, throwing the ball back.
Caleb and Lawson ease out of their defensive crouches, and now they’re watching as the piano teacher and corporate lawyer heave a basketball back and forth at each other’s faces in the driveway.
“Guys?” says Caleb.
“Interesting offensive strategy,” says Lawson.
“Fucking take it!” Aaron grunts.
“You take it!” says Billy.
“No!” Another throw to the face.
“Aaron, why are we doing this?”
Finally—inevitably—Caleb’s dad can’t handle one of Aaron’s tosses. The ball comes in too hot, shoots through his hands, and hits him squarely in the left eye like an uppercut. His dad collapses in the driveway.
“Dad!”
“Oy! Ouch, mate.”
Caleb kneels next to his dad. “Are you okay?”
“Aaron, Jesus Christ!”
“Yeah, mate, have to agree with Billy. That’s no way to treat a teammate.”
“Will you please shut the fuck up for five…goddamn…seconds?” Aaron shouts at Lawson.
“Oy,” Lawson says. “Getting heated.”
“Everything’s working out just like you’ve always wanted, huh, Billy?”
Caleb’s dad sits up, palm pressed to his eye. “What are you talking about? You just hit me in the face, you asshole. You think I wanted that?”
“You’re just gonna swoop right in, aren’t you?”
Caleb doesn’t know what Aaron is talking about. He holds his finger in front of his dad’s face. “Do you, like, see more than one?”
“Three. No, wait, four.”
