Dunk by David Lubar Page A

boardwalk. My back hurt from all the bending. My clothes were wet from getting splashed and from kneeling in puddles. And my pride had been crushed past any hope of recovery. Someone I knew was bound to spot me sooner or later.
    On top of everything else that made this a nightmare, there was no safe place to hide. Most of the balls hit the canvas and dropped. But there were plenty of wild throws. Once in a while someone got real angry and hurled a shot right at the cage. The Bozo was safe behind the bars. I wasn’t. There was no way to know how the ball would bounce. It was like being caught inside a giant pinball machine.
    Those damn bars. They made all the difference. I was on the outside, trying not to get killed, while that freak Malcolm was on the inside, where I belonged.
    At one point I heard someone shout, “Hey, look at Chad.”
    I glanced over and saw Anthony with a couple of his friends. None of them was close to being able to walk a straight line. Malcolm ignored him. I’d noticed he didn’t pick any vics who were too far gone. I ignored Anthony, too. Unfortunately, he didn’t ignore me. “Wow, Bozo’s ball boy,” he said. “Ballzo!” He cackled at his great wit. “Yeah, Ballzo.”
    They moved on, and all I could do was hope that he was so stoned he’d forget the nickname before he had a chance to spread it around. I couldn’t go through the rest of high school as Ballzo. I’d be getting into fights every day.
    All in all, it was absolutely the most awful two hours I’d ever spent in my life, not counting the time when I was seven and came down with a stomach virus in the middle of a class trip to the Philadelphia Zoo. Maybe this was worse. Malcolm worked the crowd the whole time, never letting up. He had players coming one right after another. I didn’t get any chance to rest. The two times Bob sent me for food, I had to run both ways so I wouldn’t fall too far behind. The only thing that saved me from dying was that it was still early in the season. The action started to drop off around nine. If I’d had to go much longer, I never would have made it out of there alive.
    â€œYou can knock off now if you want, kid,” Bob said when the pace had slowed enough so he could handle it.
    I nodded, too tired to even talk.
    Malcolm still didn’t let up. “Wow. I had no idea lizards could walk so well on two legs,” he called to a mark.
    Bob reached into his change apron and pulled out a thick bundle of cash. “Let’s see. You worked two hours. Minus the rental fee for the bucket and the towel. And union dues, of course.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œRelax, kid. I’m just playing with your mind,” He riffled the money with his thumb, then pulled off a couple bills and jammed them in the pocket of my pants.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œSee you tomorrow, same time?” He turned away from me to do business with Malcolm’s latest vic.
    I tried to think of the best way to tell him I was quitting.
    Bob handed the player three balls, glanced back at me, and said, “I have to admit, you told the truth. You’re a hard worker. Good to know I can count on you.” He slapped me on the back, then gave me a shove. “Go on. Run around. Have fun. Go do whatever it is you kids do these days.”
    I staggered away, propelled by his shove. My pants were soaked all the way up to my knees, and my socks were so wet they squished with each step. All the pains merged into one giant ache. I managed to drag myself a couple blocks. Then I dropped onto a bench that faced out toward the water. All around me, the lights kept flashing, the rides kept running, the people kept walking and playing and spending. But my mind had nearly shut down. Numb and exhausted, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the money, wondering how badly Bob had ripped me off.

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    T HE FIRST BILL WAS A TEN . T HE SECOND WAS A TWENTY . B OTH