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Authors: Rita Williams-Garcia
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papers. Red pen up and little blue books in stacks.
I just want to talk. Just want Hershheiser to let me in. Hear me out. Understand that itâs not just a science grade.Itâs not about lab work. Iâm not trying to go to college when I get out. Iâm not trying to be a doctor. A teacher. A lawyer. Colleges donât want shorties. Five-eight guards. They want trees. Trees to grow a championship on. They want Reese and Bishop to win big, and Ellen because sheâs Miss Whoâs Who. What does Coach call Ellen? An all-arounder: scholar-service-athlete. Thatâs who colleges want. I get it. Iâm not that.
Iâm just a baller. A guard. A floor general running the show. Making plays happen on the court. Thatâs from having eyes on the court; seeing where to be; beating the ball for the steal; reading the D; getting the ball in the hot hands, the open hands; charging into the paint or taking a charge; shooting from the high post.
All I have to do is make him understand that I need my minutes. My ball time while I can still get it. Iâm not dumb. This is it. This and Fourth Street is what I got. I have to fight grown men just to be picked to play. They be knocking me down just to make me sit down. Ride the bench. Know my place. So this team is all the shot I get. Iâm done once Iâm out. So this canât come down to five points in science. This isnât âDo better next time, Dominique.â This is âFix it now.â
I turn the knob but it wonât move. Itâs locked. Iâm on the outside and the little brown mouse is safe. I knock onthe glass. Rap/rap/rap .
Little brown mouse looks up. Heâs way over by the window but I know those whiskers are twitching.
I use hand signs and say, Mr. Hershheiser, let me talk to you . Iâm loud enough. He sees my hands motioning Come here . Open up . He hears me but he shakes his mouse head No .
âCome on, Hershheiser. I just want to talk. Make you understand.â
He wonât get out of his chair. He lifts his red pen and waves No , or Shoo , or Go away , or Iâm scared .
Come on. Let me in. Let me talk. I just want to talk.
16
Like a Dead Saint
TRINA
N ORMALLY I SIT THROUGH HOMEROOM and draw in my little notebook or chat with the guys to give them hope, but I canât sit myself still. Iâm all shaky-shaky on the inside, my feet and my chair legs quake against the floor, Shakira-hip-shake fast. I canât sit still for another fifteen minutes. Not when I know Mr. Sebastian is hanging my artwork. None of my classes are near the gallery so how would I get there to see the mural? Iâll have to wait until lunch or until seventh and eighth period when I have Art. But Iâm sorry. That is too long a time to wait. I just have to see my work and how Mr. Sebastian is hooking it up.
True, I admired my beauties when I had them spread out on the floor at home, but seeing them displayed in the gallery is entirely special. When you stand before allyour work hanging up like that, you appreciate the colors, the music, the mixes. Thatâs your work, your talent out on display. Itâs like the world can witness your greatness and you donât have to say a word.
I donât even have to lie. My homeroom teacher knows I have the antsies and lets me go.
Â
Pobrecita . She needs a mirror. Doesnât she know how dumb she looks, waving her arms like an ape, banging against that teacherâs door? Where is AP Shelton when kids are acting up?
Me, AP Shelton would catch, but boy-girl banging against the doorâheâll walk the other way like sheâs invisible. What? Oh, who cares? Let me tiptoe down these stairs and skip over to the gallery.
Â
Mwaam, mwaam, mwaam. Is it conceited to want to kiss your own work? I can truly, truly say I know what it is to be like Picasso. People will gather around and will not be able to move from wherever theyâre standing. This is even
I just want to talk. Just want Hershheiser to let me in. Hear me out. Understand that itâs not just a science grade.Itâs not about lab work. Iâm not trying to go to college when I get out. Iâm not trying to be a doctor. A teacher. A lawyer. Colleges donât want shorties. Five-eight guards. They want trees. Trees to grow a championship on. They want Reese and Bishop to win big, and Ellen because sheâs Miss Whoâs Who. What does Coach call Ellen? An all-arounder: scholar-service-athlete. Thatâs who colleges want. I get it. Iâm not that.
Iâm just a baller. A guard. A floor general running the show. Making plays happen on the court. Thatâs from having eyes on the court; seeing where to be; beating the ball for the steal; reading the D; getting the ball in the hot hands, the open hands; charging into the paint or taking a charge; shooting from the high post.
All I have to do is make him understand that I need my minutes. My ball time while I can still get it. Iâm not dumb. This is it. This and Fourth Street is what I got. I have to fight grown men just to be picked to play. They be knocking me down just to make me sit down. Ride the bench. Know my place. So this team is all the shot I get. Iâm done once Iâm out. So this canât come down to five points in science. This isnât âDo better next time, Dominique.â This is âFix it now.â
I turn the knob but it wonât move. Itâs locked. Iâm on the outside and the little brown mouse is safe. I knock onthe glass. Rap/rap/rap .
Little brown mouse looks up. Heâs way over by the window but I know those whiskers are twitching.
I use hand signs and say, Mr. Hershheiser, let me talk to you . Iâm loud enough. He sees my hands motioning Come here . Open up . He hears me but he shakes his mouse head No .
âCome on, Hershheiser. I just want to talk. Make you understand.â
He wonât get out of his chair. He lifts his red pen and waves No , or Shoo , or Go away , or Iâm scared .
Come on. Let me in. Let me talk. I just want to talk.
16
Like a Dead Saint
TRINA
N ORMALLY I SIT THROUGH HOMEROOM and draw in my little notebook or chat with the guys to give them hope, but I canât sit myself still. Iâm all shaky-shaky on the inside, my feet and my chair legs quake against the floor, Shakira-hip-shake fast. I canât sit still for another fifteen minutes. Not when I know Mr. Sebastian is hanging my artwork. None of my classes are near the gallery so how would I get there to see the mural? Iâll have to wait until lunch or until seventh and eighth period when I have Art. But Iâm sorry. That is too long a time to wait. I just have to see my work and how Mr. Sebastian is hooking it up.
True, I admired my beauties when I had them spread out on the floor at home, but seeing them displayed in the gallery is entirely special. When you stand before allyour work hanging up like that, you appreciate the colors, the music, the mixes. Thatâs your work, your talent out on display. Itâs like the world can witness your greatness and you donât have to say a word.
I donât even have to lie. My homeroom teacher knows I have the antsies and lets me go.
Â
Pobrecita . She needs a mirror. Doesnât she know how dumb she looks, waving her arms like an ape, banging against that teacherâs door? Where is AP Shelton when kids are acting up?
Me, AP Shelton would catch, but boy-girl banging against the doorâheâll walk the other way like sheâs invisible. What? Oh, who cares? Let me tiptoe down these stairs and skip over to the gallery.
Â
Mwaam, mwaam, mwaam. Is it conceited to want to kiss your own work? I can truly, truly say I know what it is to be like Picasso. People will gather around and will not be able to move from wherever theyâre standing. This is even
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