Basketball practice was going to be hard that day, not because of the heat, but because his head was especially infected with thoughts and voices, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Then, of course, he thought of Carl. What the hell was going on? What had caused him to go through the roof like that? Hadn't he realized that when you took on Alan, you took on the entire football team?
Sal went over to the gymnasium and into the locker room. It smelled like feet. He sat for a moment on the bench. His teammates would be joining him soon, and his quiet break would soon be over.
Go Falcons.
Sal was respected by teammates as well as his opponents. He worked hard and always played fair. Sal always cheered his teammates on and thanked his opponents for a good game—he felt his opponents helped him train harder to become a better athlete.
Practice turned out to be as tough as he'd feared. The ball hit him several times in the face, and he got a nosebleed. He wasn't able to put the ball in the net. Not once.
It felt like he couldn’t breathe. Coach Heffernan patted him on the shoulder. He, like everyone at the school, had known about the incident with Carl in the cafeteria. “Get it out of your system, Sal," he said. "We need you on Friday.”
As his teammates showered, Sal sat in the spectators' seating and wiped the blood from his face. He calmed himself down and felt his heart doing the same. Sal picked up a basketball and shot a few hoops. The ball went straight through the net, and he felt his body relax like it usually did when he played basketball.
He danced around with the ball and did every trick he knew, totally in control. He was in a state of flow, a state of happiness, his worries and concerns drifted away, and he lost track of time. He was so completely absorbed that he didn't notice when the person silently entered the gymnasium.
Sal played until his body craved water, so he heeded the call. He didn’t want to pull a Marshall Hazlitt—Marshal Hazlitt was the school mascot. Once, at a game, he over-exerted himself as he used his body language to perform, entertain, and connect with the spectators, overheated in his costume, and had to be taken to the hospital.
He wiped his forehead and walked to the drinking fountain next to the spectators' seats. The cold water felt nice against his warm lips, and he felt better, so he went into the locker room, got undressed, and took a shower. The water was a blessing on his overheated body. The cold tiles felt cool against his heated soles. He put his hands against the wall for a moment and closed his eyes. Sal couldn't cope with the thought of getting dressed again, so he stayed like that for a while.
The buzz of the fluorescents stopped. Limited light from the small windows in the locker room peeked inside. Sal turned the water off, wrapped a towel around his waist, walked out of the shower room, and into the locker room.
He flipped the switch a few times, assuming the power was out because the light refused to come on.
Sal opened his locker and was pulling out his clothes when he heard a sound. He froze.
Were the guys playing a prank on him?
He walked toward the door leading out to the hall. “Come on, guys. Turn the power back on,” Sal yelled. He stopped when he saw the tall figure watching him in the mirror.
The face watching him was all dark, hidden away in a green hooded sweatshirt.
Sal turned around slowly. “What do you want?” he said, try to remain calm. As he observed his opponent, he tried to understand his aggression and where it might have come from.
“To see if you really are a wizard, Harry,” a deep voice replied.
“Do I know you? Did I somehow offend you? If I did, I apologize!” Sal said, trying to talk the fight down. He didn’t think he'd done anything wrong, but he wasn’t sure, and he preferred to avoid a physical altercation.
The intruder laughed out loud. “You are smooth, Sal. I just want to see what you got.”
“You know my name!” Sal said, alarmed.
The intruder shrugged his shoulders.
Sal automatically put himself in a defensive position, putting his non-dominant leg forward and pointing outward. He crouched so that his center of gravity would be lower. He closed his front fist and blocked his face, keeping his balance.
The intruder began to charge. Sal brought his back leg and shoulder forward and turned his body one hundred and eighty degrees. With the momentum his body created, he lifted his back leg up and straightened his knee, ready to deliver the blow. Sal hit his opponent hard in the gut. The guy staggered for a minute—he clearly hadn’t expected the blow. He looked puzzled, but not defeated. He snorted, aggravated, and prepared himself for another attack.
Sal jumped to the side and ran between the lockers to the other end of the locker room in an effort to create some space between them.
Was the guy there to kill him?
His foot stumbled upon something hard. Sal glanced down and saw a basketball. He quickly picked it up.
When his attacker appeared before him, Sal threw the ball as hard as he could against his face.
BAM!
The guy put a hand to his face, trembling before he turned to make his way to the exit.
Sal jumped the guy from behind, and the guy fell over. They struggled for a minute as Sal tried to reveal his opponent's face until the guy made a gesture with his right hand. A powerful energy made Sal fly backward, slamming into one of the lockers, hard.
Everything went black, and his opponent fled.