Riding Chance Read online

  Winston was shaking hands with just about everybody. He introduced us to people who slapped us on the back and said they couldn’t wait to see us on the field.

  “So, you’re part of Winston’s hotshot polo team,” this one old guy said. He was dressed funny, wearing faded red shorts with a yellow shirt and a green plaid jacket. “You must be good if you’re with him.”

  Me and Foster weren’t sure what to say, but Jerome loved all that kind of talk. “Just wait till you see us at exhibition,” he said.

  Looked like a lot of folks were just there for the party. Some guys in the tent were already drunk and it was only two o’clock. Some of the ladies, too. I saw why Alisha got dressed for this. Ladies were putting on a fashion show, trying to get everybody’s attention.

  Winston walked over to the edge of the tent so he could check out the players when they rode onto the field. They looked as good as their horses. Reminded me of how Winston looked the first day we saw him. They were flexing so everybody could see their stuff. Yeah, they were cool.

  Me, I couldn’t take my eyes off the horses. Problem was, I didn’t know where to look. Horses were everywhere. On the polo field, running along the sides and standing at both ends. And there was that sound of thunder everywhere. It felt dangerous to be standing in the middle of all that.

  Winston waved me and Foster over to sit with him when the match started. We had the best seats in the place, right on the center line. The umpire threw the ball in and the players went for it. It was like the tip-off in basketball but on horseback. The horses knew what they were supposed to do. They were bumping up against each other trying to get close to the ball. The players were bumping up against each other, too. They needed the pads, the boots, the helmets, all of it for protection. Nobody was holding back. One player got the ball and smashed it down the field. He took off after it and the other players lit out after him.

  “Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” Winston said. He was looking down the field through a pair of binoculars.

  A player was hanging off the side of his horse, holding his mallet like somebody having a real good time at a house party.

  “They let us sit so close to the field?” Foster asked. “We could be in trouble if one of these horses got out of control.”

  “They’re ponies,” said Winston. “Never horses.”

  “Whatever,” said Foster, frowning at me. “They could hurt you.”

  “Only losers worry about getting hurt,” said Jerome. “These guys know their stuff.” He had worked his way over to where we were sitting.

  “You’re right to worry, Foster. This is a tough game,” said Winston. “The ponies can go up to thirty-five miles per hour.”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Foster. “I should have brought my football helmet.”

  “Football,” laughed Jerome. “Boy, where you from?”

  “Well, unlike football,” Winston said, cutting his eyes at Jerome, “there aren’t any set plays. The players have strategies but they have to listen and keep looking behind to figure out where the next play will be since they’re not facing the ball.”

  “Is that why they’re all shouting?” I asked.

  “Mm-hmm. They’re at a gallop and they have to get their pony in line with the ball so they can pass it to a teammate or try to make the goal.”

  “Look at how the ponies are sweating,” I said. “They’re really working.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Winston. “It’s hot and they’re going all out. In professional games, the players change ponies after each chukka. There’s no way one animal could last the whole hour and a half.”

  I didn’t know if I could last the whole hour and a half. Felt like I was high or something. I knew Winston and them were there ’cause I heard their voices but the sound of the mallets smacking the ball was louder.

  “Earth to Troy.” Alisha was nudging me. I hadn’t even heard her walk over.

  “What’s up?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the field. That was deep. I never thought I’d pass up a chance to look at her.

  WHEN I GOT HOME, Uncle Ronnie was over. He was down in the basement, whistling. Then I heard him staggering up the stairs with Pops’s bike.

  “I think I’ll start cycling again,” he said when he got up to the kitchen. “Might train for a bike trip down to Atlantic City.”

  Grandmom was watering her plants on the windowsill above the sink. Pops was sitting in one of the chairs at the little table looking out the window.

  “It’s safer than that motorcycle,” said Grandmom. “As long as you’re not going down there to gamble.” She was always worried about stuff like that.

  “Now you know I quit gambling.” Uncle Ronnie rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

  “I hope so,” she said, putting her watering jar away. “Always going down there losing money.”

  “You should get back into biking,” Uncle Ronnie said, nudging Pops.

  “I just might,” he said, turning to look at us. I hadn’t heard him pacing at night in a while. Maybe he was getting better.

  “Well, if everybody’s going to be athletic in this house,” said Grandmom, “I may need to do something, too.”

  “Like what?” We all said it at the same time.

  “I think there are some aerobics tapes still around here.” She was peeking into cabinets like she expected those old tapes to be in with the cornflakes.

  “We don’t have a VCR anymore,” said Pops. “Streaming is the thing now.”

  “Whatever,” said Grandmom, waving her hand as she headed into the dining room.

  That cracked everybody up. We hadn’t done that in a long time. I held the back door open for Uncle Ronnie, and Pops went outside, too. The backyard was more concrete than grass but we used to have fun out there. A narrow alley separated the backyards on our block from those around the corner.

  “You meeting a lot of new kids in the park, huh?” Pops said, watching Uncle Ronnie check the bike’s tires.

  “Yeah. Everybody’s cool,” I said, sitting down on the back steps.

  “And what’s that girl’s name? The real cute one.”

  “There’s a bunch of girls who ride,” I said. “And girls can play polo, too.”

  “Really? Well, there was one there the day I came over. Looked like she knew her stuff.”

  “Alisha. She’s Winston’s niece.”

  “You talking to her?” That was his way of asking me if anything was happening.

  “We’re friends,” I said.

  “Is Foster friends with her, too?”

  “Pops, there’s nothing going on.” He sounded like his old self but I didn’t want to keep talking about this. The truth was, I really liked Alisha. A lot.

  “I’m going over to Foster’s,” I said, reaching for the small polo mallet I’d left in the backyard. I wasn’t hanging around for any more questions.

  “Be back before ten,” he said.

  I WAS STILL HIGH from the trip out to Blanchard. Couldn’t figure out how the players handled the horses and mallets without hitting the wrong thing. Looked like they could easily smack themselves upside the head. I had Foster looking for polo videos on YouTube.

  “One hundred ten miles per hour,” I said. “That’s how fast the ball goes sometimes.”

  “How would that feel if it hit you in the face?” Foster’s eyes were fastened on the computer screen. We heard a police siren wailing a few blocks away.

  “I’m wondering what happens if your horse gets hit,” I said. “And what happens if you go down.”

  “Speaking of going down, did you hear Lay-Lay got in trouble?”

  “What happened?”

  “Man, you need to keep up with what’s going on around here. He was running around Center City after the curfew they got down there. Now his mom gotta pay a three-hundred-dollar fine.”

  “Sounds like something he would do,” I said.

  “And,” Foster continued, “know why we thought we knew Jerome when we first
met him?” I shrugged. Jerome got on my nerves. I didn’t want to think about him if I didn’t have to. “ ’Cause he used to live around here.” Foster should’ve been a detective. He was always snooping stuff out.

  “Thought he told you he lived in the suburbs?” I said.

  “He lives in the suburbs now, with his aunt.” Foster turned from the computer to face me. “Remember that family around the corner? You know, the cops were always at their house?”

  I remembered seeing cop cars at that house all the time. Grandmom said they did the best they could but the two oldest kids were on drugs pretty bad. They broke into a couple houses on the block before they got locked up. Turns out that family was related to Lay-Lay.

  “Who told you all this?” I asked.

  “Miss T,” said Foster. “She was asking me about the kids at the stables. She remembered that one of Lay-Lay’s cousins got into riding after his parents split up.”

  Foster nodded and pursed his lips when he saw my surprise.

  “Yup,” he said. “Jerome and Lay-Lay are cousins.”

  “So, Jerome is trying to act like he’s not from around here.”

  I picked up the mallet and twirled it around, thinking about what Foster told me. I didn’t know why Jerome had to act like he was something other than what he was.

  Foster clicked out of YouTube. “I’m tired of watching this,” he said, putting on some music to block out the sirens.

  “I never get tired of it,” I said, sprawling on Foster’s beanbag. I held the mallet with both hands stretched above my head. “I wonder when Winston will take us back out to Blanchard.”

  “I’m not really worried about it,” said Foster.

  “What’s not to like?” I asked.

  “Being the only one,” he said. “Felt like I was under a microscope.”

  I knew what he was talking about. The people at Blanchard were friendly, but it was weird to be someplace where there weren’t many other black people. And it wasn’t just that. Looked like everybody there had more money than we did, a lot more. The cars, the clothes, the horses. Everything like that.

  “What about Winston?” I asked. “He’s a brother.”

  “He’s okay, sometimes, but then he starts putting on airs …” Foster’s words trailed off. Winston could be proper but he wasn’t putting on airs. That was just the way he was.

  The windows in Foster’s room were open. We heard a rustling sound like somebody was running up the alley. Couldn’t be sure because the parachute covered most of the window and we had music on.

  “The dude’s wrapped too tight. Always correcting what you say. Like polo players don’t wear stretch pants.” Foster was doing a pretty good imitation of Winston, flicking dirt off his sleeve and checking his wrist like he was wearing a watch. I couldn’t help but laugh. Foster kept going. “‘This isn’t the mall.’ What’s that mean? Ain’t nothing wrong with the mall.”

  I felt the same way sometimes. Winston and Alisha were different from us. They didn’t have to worry about money and they were always doing stuff we’d never heard of. And Jerome, he was always trying to crack on us even though he was from our block.

  “Jerome needs to get his butt kicked.” Foster was on a roll now. “What’s he got against football?”

  “Probably can’t play,” I said.

  “He better stay up on that horse, uh, I forgot, pony … never horse.” Foster opened his closet and took his basketball out. “Riding’s okay, but I miss shooting hoops,” he said. He started dribbling across his room. It only took thirty seconds before Miss T shouted up the steps.

  “Don’t bounce that ball in the house.”

  Foster sucked his teeth, but he put the ball down on his bed.

  “We can still play,” I said.

  “You gotta show on the block if you still wanna play. You can’t just roll up on the court after you been missing in action.” He was right about that. We spent no time on the block anymore. Then he said what I didn’t want to hear. “I don’t care if I never go back out to Blanchard.”

  I sat up and cradled the mallet in my lap. I couldn’t wait to get back out to Blanchard. I wanted to be with Chance and make the polo team and all that. I’d hoped Foster would do it with me.

  “You’re not quitting, are you?”

  Foster shrugged. He wasn’t looking at me when he did that, either. Normally, he was straight up about everything. He was acting different now.

  “I’m not really into the horses like you are,” he said. “Everybody knows that. Winston, Dre, Jerome.” He gave a short little laugh. “Even the horses can see it. They don’t take to me like they do to you.”

  “You and Luke could be tight if you wanted …”

  “Not like you and Chance,” he said. “Plus, I hate Blanchard. Too phony. Miss T said I don’t have to go back out there if I don’t want to.”

  “But you didn’t see the polo match at the stables,” I said. “That wasn’t like Blanchard at all.”

  Foster shook his head. “Miss T is talking to Winston about what else I can do this summer. I may have to do some community service or something.”

  “I can’t believe you, man.” I frowned. “Community service …”

  “Anything’s better than polo,” he said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “So … humph.” Foster’s room had always felt like my second home but, just then, it felt like someplace I’d never been before.

  “Troy, time for you to be heading home,” Miss T called from downstairs.

  It was almost ten o’clock. It only took a few minutes to walk from one house to the other, but Miss T always used her binoculars to watch the street when one of us was out after dark.

  “Check you later,” I said, picking up my backpack and the mallet. I tried to act like everything was cool even though my stomach was turning over on itself.

  Outside was a little bit cooler than Foster’s room, but not much. Our street was usually filled with kids on hot nights like this, but everybody was over at the schoolyard watching a basketball game. Mosquitoes were the only things hanging out. I was in front of Mr. Glover’s house when a cop car spun around the corner. It sped up to me, stopped, and two cops jumped out.

  “What’s your name?” one asked.

  “Troy Butler.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I live right there,” I said, pointing at my house with the mallet. It was about the length of my arm.

  “Drop it and put your hands up,” he shouted. The other cop drew his gun. The first cop was on me before I could even blink, slamming me onto the hood of the car, twisting my arm hard behind my back, forcing me spread-eagle. He was breathing hard down my neck, running his free hand down my sides and legs. There was a sharp pain in my left elbow, but the cop was all over me, I couldn’t straighten it out. The right side of my face was hot, pressed up against the car hood. I had to pee and I knew I couldn’t hold it. I was dizzy and couldn’t see straight. A buzzing mosquito was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

  LIGHTS WERE FLASHING when I came to, flashing so, so bright. Pops was like a … a madman. His face was all bent out of shape—screaming, howling. Uncle Ronnie held him back with his body. “Dave,” he kept saying. “Dave, Dave, he’s okay.”

  I heard Miss T’s voice: “I saw the whole thing.” She held her binoculars up over her head. “This is totally unjustified. He spent the evening with me and my son.”

  Grandmom stood on the curb, next to Mr. Glover’s TV, just looking down at her hands. She’d grasped his old antenna so hard it broke off in her hand. Foster took it away from her. A crowd surrounded us, chanting. “You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong …”

  Was this my street? My street? Couldn’t walk down my own street? Cops looking for kids. Grab me. Come grabbing me?

  Mr. Glover worked his way through the crowd. His eyes were on fire but he calmed folks down. “Everybody, stay cool,” he said. “We’re here to support the Butlers. Just stay
cool.”

  The wetness in my pants had traveled down my right leg to my sock. I crossed my arms over my chest and acted like I was looking around for my backpack. If I had it, I could hide. If I had it, I could stick my head in it so nobody would see my face. I squeezed my eyes shut but I couldn’t block out the clammy feeling on my right leg and sock.

  Seemed like forever before I felt Pops’s hand on my shoulder. “Here’s your backpack.” He handled it to me and pulled me into him real tight. Over his shoulder, I could see Miss T still holding her binoculars high in the air.

  NOBODY WAS ARRESTED. Well, nobody should’ve been. Ain’t nobody do nothing wrong. Cop said he felt threatened. They were looking for somebody who committed an armed robbery. Armed with what? A stick? And what’d the guy look like? Did he even look anything like me?

  The cops called an ambulance, called for backup, too. I just wanted to get out of the street, but I had to be checked out because of what happened. Cops said they weren’t qualified to know if I needed medical care. So the EMS people had to come and make sure I was all right before they released me. Released me for the whole block to see. Felt like I was on display. I could feel heat rising up the back of my neck when I walked up our steps and into the house. Everybody probably could tell that too.

  Pops and Mr. Glover talked to the cops for a long time before everything settled down. I heard snatches about the mallet. Everybody was upset about the mallet. Where’d he get it? What was he doing with it? He could hurt somebody with it.

  “They say the kid plays polo,” one of the cops said into his radio. “Where? How the heck do I know?”

  “In Fairmount Park,” said Mr. Glover. “He plays through one of your affiliations.”

  “Polo, really?”

  “He works with horses in the park …” Pops was trying hard not to get upset again. I could hear it in his voice. “Since when is that illegal?”

  I took a shower and laid down across my bed. Faked like I was asleep when Grandmom came to check on me. I curled up in a little ball like I did after my mom first died. Couldn’t even walk down my own street. Stay out of trouble. Isn’t that what Winston and Dre and them said? I got into trouble just from thinking. Thinking about Foster and Blanchard and how come the two of them couldn’t go together. I didn’t do nothing, but Winston was hooked up with the cops. They’d probably tell him something about me. Tell him something so I wouldn’t see Chance anymore.